


Last Call

by Missy



Category: Spider-Man (Movies - Raimi)
Genre: Crack, Doppelganger, Gen, Humor, Injokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 08:05:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So a ring announcer walks into a French restaurant and...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Call

**Author's Note:**

> Written For Trope Bingo: Secret Twin/Doppelgangers.

George Powers was exhausted. He had taken a ten-mile walk across town with broken ribs and torn neck cartilage, and he wasn’t about to settle for third-rate food.

The French place was open late, and it was quiet and had a bar all the way near the back of the room. It was filled with high-class executive types who had no interest in what George did for a living, nor did they notice when he slumped against the bar in response to his waiter’s request.

“Gimmie a scotch, neat,” he said. 

“Aha, Monsieur,” responded the waiter blithely. “I shall give you a little lift, non? The best spirits should. I shall bring you our finest. Would you prefer some bread to sop it up a bit?”

George squinted at the guy behind the bar. How weird. He knew those eyebrows – and that nose. He waved it all off and picked up the menu. “Maybe a steak – small. With lots of greens. Toss it with oil, and maybe some walnuts.”

“That…is not on the menu.” He glowered at the waiter until he shrunk back. “But I will have the chef put it on the menu!” He scuttled away, fear on his every feature, leaving George to sit in peace.

Much later, he came by with the scotch. “And is sir happy with his booze?”

George slugged it down in one gulp. “Yeah. It’s got a nice burn on it.” He eyeballed the obsequious waiter in curiosity. “Hey, confidentially – do you have any brothers hanging around?”

“Me? Oh –hoh! No, monsieur, I am an only child, or so my parents said.”

“You don’t trust them?”

“Oh no! I was adopted,” he explained. “My mother scooped me from the orphanage when I was a little baby. She said I was the pick of the litter.” 

“Yeah.” George rubbed his temples and frowned, playing with the glass. “This whole damn place is screwy. I’m gonna be glad when we pull up stakes for the next town.”

“You’re leaving New York so soon?” George squirmed under the weight of the other man’s judgment. 

“I travel a lot with my job.” He tapped his fingers against the bartop. “I spend a lot of time going from hotel to hotel and plane to plane. It pays a lot, but it’s not worth the constant disconnect between people I get between stops.” And they needed to get out of town fast after that robbery that happened outside the last show.

“Ah, oui,” remarked the waiter with thought. “I have not left my little kitchen in all of the years since my birth. My father, he left this place to me, and so I rebuilt it from the floor to the ceiling. Everything you see is shiny and fresh, non.”

“Yeah,” remarked George. “So, hey, Pierre…”

“Jon,” he replied, pointing to his nametag. “Jon-Pierre Du Lebanc Blanc.”

“Riight. So Jon, I’ve got a salad bigger than my head coming out here in a minute. Why don’t you sit down and relax.” As if on cue, the platter of nuts and lettuce arrived and he prodded an index finger into its contents. “See? He nudged the pewter fingerbowl of walnuts toward the other man’s hands.

Jon coughed, worked his collar loose, then grinned. “Only for a second, non? My customers will miss me.”

They closed the restaurant together that night.

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction uses characters from **Sam Raimi's Spider-Man films** , all of whom are the property of **Sony Entertainment**. No money was gained from the writing of this fanfiction and all are used under the strictures of of the Berne Convention.


End file.
